


Candid

by Berty



Category: due South
Genre: Canada, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray Kowalski has a unique life philosophy, and he's taking the time to teach it to Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candid

Fraser keeps his eyes on his book when Ray returns to their room. He can smell Ray's shampoo, his shave foam and the scent of skin warmed by the extremely efficient shower in the bathroom next door, but he tries not to let it divert him from his text.

It's not easy.

This is the first time in weeks that Fraser has seen Ray in normal, street clothing and the knowledge that there is now only a single layer of denim and a small amount of cotton between him and Ray's skin is deeply distracting. It's something that Fraser hasn't had to deal with all the while they've been on the ice, and he seems now to have completely forgotten how to achieve the control he used to put on each morning like part of his uniform.

The notion that Ray might have dispensed with some of the cotton, and that he might be completely naked beneath his jeans makes Fraser clear his throat and concentrate more determinedly on the familiar, worn book whose title completely escapes him right now.

On the edge of his vision, Fraser can see that Ray's cheeks are a little pink still from the razor and that his hair, although combed, is still damp against his neck. Ray is alternately drumming his fingers and slapping his hands on his thighs in a complex rhythm that reminds Fraser of a Mozart piano concerto but that he doubts is intended to be.

The eight weeks spent on the quest have been surprisingly effortless on a personal level, and Fraser has relished the uncomplicated familiarity into which he and Ray have slipped. Although they had been great friends at the outset, the depth of their companionship has blossomed and Fraser knows that he has never been this easy with anyone, or felt this kind of profound, quiet connection. Even at his closest to Ray Vecchio, Fraser was aware of the distance between their viewpoints, a deep and fundamental difference that was more to do with their life experiences than their goals.

With Ray Kowalski, Fraser finds himself surprised by the similarity of their positions, as if they've been on the same path, simply beginning from disparate parts of the world. There's a synchronicity. An accord. A… recognition.

But that ease has come to an abrupt end. The day they began to pass manmade structures, near Deline, Ray seemed to rediscover his prickly shell, as if readying himself for the onslaught of civilisation. Their daily existence, so simple and satisfying until then, became a tense, silent struggle in the last week, which Ray had betrayed with every jerky gesture and bitten-off response. His ready smile and quiet wit were conspicuous by their absence by the time they'd reached the outskirts of Fort Simpson; and Fraser still wasn't sure of the reason for his abrupt volte-face.

Perhaps Ray had suddenly become tired of their adventure, with the lure of alternative options so tantalisingly close. Perhaps the simple happiness they had shared had become less appealing. Or perhaps the presence of the airstrip had reminded Ray of his home so far to the south, and he was impatient to get back to his world.

Or maybe he was simply sick of Fraser and ice and pemmican, but Fraser's concerned overtures had been summarily rebuffed, leaving Fraser unsettled and cautious, wary of provoking Ray to further ill-temper and spoiling their last days together before they went their separate ways.

Ray's disquiet is almost palpable. He stands beside the door, committing himself to neither the room nor the corridor, and Fraser wonders if he has presumed too much in booking them into a twin-bedded room without first discussing their sleeping arrangements. He has become accustomed to Ray's presence as he falls asleep, the scent of him, the whisper of his breathing, the warmth of Ray tucked against his back. It simply hadn't occurred to Fraser that this would be different once they returned to town.

The room is well proportioned, giving them ample space, particularly after two months of living in a four metre-square tent. Its appointments, while tired and dated, are clean and inoffensive. Ray had chosen the bed beside the window, even though the view is hardly what one would call picturesque.

Ray stalks past that same window without even glancing outside, then stops again, kicking off his boots and idly chewing a nail. Fraser's heart thuds unevenly, awaiting Ray's next action. His book lays against his thighs, unread, and he feels strangely exposed. He wishes he had sat at the battered little desk, rather than propped himself up on his bed with the overabundance of pillows the room came with. He wishes he had put on more clothing himself - his own jeans and Henley seem inadequate to protect him from this newly returned, unpredictable Ray - or to protect Ray from him. On the ice he had many layers and in Chicago he had his uniform; this casual, flimsy clothing does nothing to help him remember that Ray, his partner, his friend, is strictly out of bounds.

Ray's restlessness brings him to the foot of his own bed where he catches sight of his newly booked itinerary, cast carelessly on the bedspread. Ray stills as if he can read the tiny print which details his return to Chicago, his home, his job, his life. His arms come up around himself, crossed tight over his chest and he lowers his head, closing in on himself.

"Are you hungry?" Fraser asks quietly in deference to Ray's mood, still keeping his eyes on his book, not wishing to push him.

"Nah, Frase. I'm fine," Ray says immediately, which is a blatant lie.

"Perhaps a drink then? I noticed a bar downstairs and a couple of suitable establishments as we came along the main street. It's only a matter of minutes to walk there."

Fraser lifts his gaze to Ray, but his friend doesn't reply, simply shakes his head, walks back to the window and stares out into the late afternoon light.

"I ought to go and check on Dief," Fraser says when Ray's silence becomes more than he can bear.

Dief might have got away with it in Chicago, but the hoteliers of the Northwest Territories are not so unfamiliar with wolves as their Illinois counterparts, and they had been firmly, but politely, directed to a boarding kennel on the outskirts of town. Dief had complained all the way about being treated like the rest of the team, but Fraser had been distracted by Ray's solemnity and hadn't really been able to enter into the spirit of the argument.

Fraser is about to take Ray's reticence as a dismissal and climb back into his cold weather gear when Ray suddenly scrapes his hands through his over-long hair and turns toward him.

"Listen," he begins before he seems to lose his way again. He tips back his head and squints at the ceiling, his fingers taking up their drumming again, drawing Fraser's gaze to Ray's slender hands and the muscles in his thighs.

Fraser knew that this would be the hardest part of their quest for him; survival in the most hostile terrain on Earth is as nothing compared to having to watch Ray leave. But he had not imagined that he would be called upon to make it easier for Ray.

He doesn't know if he is equal to the task, but knows he has to try.

He puts his book down beside him on the bedspread and takes a slow, calming breath. "Ray."

Ray's finger comes up instantly, indicating that he should wait, although for what, Fraser has no idea.

Ray nods to himself intermittently, and his raised finger points as if he is counting a series of disparate items. Finally he looks back at Fraser.

"Listen," he begins again unnecessarily. "I need to ask you something. I've been seeing… no. Right. When I was out there…" he waves a hand which somehow Fraser recognises as 'Canada' rather than the bathroom, the hotel or Fort Simpson, "… I was kind of noticing that we had a groove going."

"Yes, indeed," Fraser agrees immediately. "Our duet seems to have adapted quite admirably to the change of terrain."

Ray smiles quickly, a flash of his former good humour, but then he sobers again. "Yeah, we're good. But no, this was… Okay, I noticed… maybe you… that…"

For the first time Fraser regrets how attuned he has become to Ray's body language, because it is painfully obvious that Ray is almost beside himself with nervousness. He tugs on an earlobe and tips his head, trying to hide his mouth, but he still watches Fraser through his eyelashes.

Fraser adds two and two, and is suddenly glad that he is already reclining. It saves him the effort of having to hold himself still when what he really wants to do is run.

Of course it had all been too easy; he knows that now. That he could have underestimated Ray's powers of observation and his uncanny knack of seeing to the heart of a situation shames him. That he thought he was so good at camouflaging his own desires is a clear indication of the arrogance his father often berated him for.

Ray has discovered his secret, realised his attraction and has waited until now to tackle him about it.

The least Fraser can do, having put Ray in such a position, is sit still and endure Ray's words.

He tries to quench the heat that flames in his cheeks, tries to keep his eyes steadily on Ray as he waits. But Ray seems speechless once again and stares at Fraser with what Fraser suspects is a good approximation of the expression already on his own face. Mortification. Embarrassment. Guilt.

Time has prolonged this excruciating moment into an endlessness of discomfort, stretching it until basic chronological physics must surely reassert itself. Fraser is hot, cold, suffocating, drowning. Memories of a time he hoped never to have to endure again resurface to taunt him - the same memories that meant he could never have begun to explain his feelings to Ray. She has scarred his soul so deeply that he suspects fear will keep him from ever again acting on the promptings of his heart.

Perhaps he should start. Or perhaps if he apologises before Ray gathers himself it could deflect some of the anger or disappointment or revulsion that Ray must be feeling. Perhaps if he can explain the nature of his feelings, Ray might understand a little of it, having endured a hopeless attraction himself.

But Ray finds the breath to speak first. He shakes his head and lifts his arms in a gesture of defeat. "Fuck this," he growls and starts to pull off his t-shirt.

Fraser is dumbfounded. This was not an option he had anticipated. What possible purpose could Ray have in _un_dressing?

As Ray's face reappears from beneath his shirt, he looks determined, almost angry, and Fraser is still too confused to even speak.

Ray's wind-burned cheeks are in high colour; his steady gaze is like a dare. Without waiting for comment, he closes the gap between them, stoops and quickly presses his mouth, awkwardly, haphazardly, to Fraser's.

It's quick. Too quick. Fraser only knows there's warmth and moisture and that his heart is suddenly pushing at the confinement of his ribs, and it's gone.

"Was I right?" Ray asks hoarsely without standing. His hand is planted beside Fraser's head and their foreheads touch, even as Ray somehow contrives not to meet his eye.

The scent of him, the very _heat_ of him is almost more than Fraser can bear. It makes him stupid and slow. When he doesn't reply, Ray kisses him again, harder, this time holding his jaw in a rough palm. "Fraser, am I right?"

"I didn't… I had no idea… I'm…" Fraser tilts his head back, lifting his mouth toward Ray's, seeking another of those mind-altering kisses. But Ray doesn't kiss him; he waits, his strange grey eyes almost feverishly bright.

"Yes," Fraser admits finally, his throat tight, and Ray gives him what he's looking for, his mouth opening under Fraser's in the hottest, sweetest kiss Fraser has ever known. It's a kind of terror and a revelation combined, the surge of emotion too great to be named or understood.

Ray pulls back again, and Fraser swallows the groan of frustration that wells up within him. There is a smile of heart-stopping joy on Ray's face, and Fraser's mind might be cast loose, but his libido is functioning without any such impediment. His thigh muscles tense involuntarily as his jeans begin to become uncomfortable.

"I knew it," Ray murmurs, the relief in his voice making Fraser smile in return.

Ray's hands are tentative, stroking over Fraser's chest and shoulders as if he's uncertain of his reception. Fraser holds still, letting Ray move at his own pace although his own preference, perhaps greedily, would be for greater haste.

Ray bends forward again, his lips taking Fraser's with growing confidence. Fraser slides his hands into Ray's hair, his fingers slicking through the damp coolness of it, and cradling his head, holding his lips to Ray's, lifting up from the bed, trying to touch Ray's skin, press it closer, to feel his life and vitality through his thin t-shirt.

Ray huffs a chuckle against Fraser's mouth, disentangles his fingers and pulls back with a grin. He turns his head, his eyes looking Fraser up and down, lingering. It seems that he understands Fraser's poorly concealed desire.

"You are such a freak," he tells Fraser as he stands up once again.

Fraser nods quickly; words would take too long and possibly delay Ray's return, and that would never do.

Ray's hands drift to the waistband of his jeans. "You want this?" he asks, looking uncertain suddenly. "I mean... now? Already? I'm not complaining, you know, but we haven't…"

Fraser nods again, trying to swallow through the dryness in his mouth. He can't seem to drag his eyes from where Ray's mesmerising fingers have slipped beneath the denim and are slowly unfastening the buttons.

Fraser throbs in sympathy as Ray frees his cock from his jeans, affording Fraser only a quick glimpse before he bends to push the material over his thighs and down to the floor, then kicks them off altogether. He straightens up without pause or shame.

Fraser is finally able to observe Ray fully, his eyes trying to take in all of him at once. To Fraser's mind, Ray is a mass of complementary contradictions, positive but uncertain, proud but modest, and here, now, standing completely naked and without embarrassment yet unable to ask Fraser, straight out, if he's interested in him. Fraser is, however, grateful for his lack of inhibition. It means he is free to look at the smooth slenderness of Ray's torso, the strength and muscle in his shoulders and arms, the shapeliness of his thighs and calves, and the heavy length of his erection, displayed just for him.

Fraser can't quite grasp the magnitude of his good fortune, that Ray is not perturbed by his attraction, and is indeed actively encouraging and _participating_ in it.

He knows that there are things he should be saying on such a momentous and felicitous discovery, but he simply sits and stares.

And wants.

"You didn't think this was something I should know, Frase? Tell me what you were thinking, 'cause I can't get it straight in my head," Ray chides, moving closer, almost within reach. His sly smile takes the sting from his words.

With enviable grace, he straddles Fraser on the bed, placing a hot hand on Fraser's chest to keep him down when he tries to come up to meet Ray. "When you've got a thing for someone, you find a way to let them know, right? That's the first thing you do."

Fraser would like to discuss this interesting concept further, but he has more pressing concerns in the shape of Ray's body; specifically, Ray's body not being pressed against his at every conceivable point. Fraser reaches up and pulls him down.

Holding an aroused Ray Kowalski, Fraser discovers, is like attempting to contain the wind - frustrating, confusing and ultimately futile. He stills when Fraser wants him to move: he rolls when Fraser wants him immobile: he lingers too long, watching him with that incredulous smile and he pulls away too soon when Fraser wants his mouth.

Although it goes against his nature, Fraser soon realises that the only thing to do is submit.

With a sigh, Fraser subsides, relaxing back into the bed. He waits to see what Ray will do next.

If Ray's smile was brilliant before, it is incandescent when he understands that Fraser's passiveness is not a rejection but an invitation. His quick, clever hands make short work of Fraser's button, zipper and boxers, pushing the material aside only far enough to free Fraser's cock. And although Fraser would like to kick his jeans off altogether, his attention is utterly distracted when Ray rolls a condom on him that has appeared out of nowhere. Ray sinks down onto him, pressing their sticky skin together, dragging his penis along Fraser's in an exquisite slip and catch that makes them both hiss.

Ray captures his mouth and his hands, twining their fingers together as he strokes his tongue over Fraser's in a blatantly possessive manner. Fraser closes his eyes and moans into Ray's mouth, a rough, impatient, animalistic sound that he hadn't known he was capable of.

"I got you. I got you," Ray mutters against his mouth and lifts up, positioning himself above Fraser in a way that makes him hold his breath until he feels the touch of Ray's skin, warm and smooth and wonderfully slippery. Fraser opens his eyes wide as he feels his cock engage with Ray's entrance. Ray is entrancing as he holds his bottom lip in his teeth and begins to sink down onto Fraser.

Ray's body opens for him, accepts him with a tight, intoxicating heat. With another inarticulate groan, Fraser realises as he slides into Ray, that his partner had anticipated a positive reaction and has already taken measures to ensure their mutual satisfaction.

Ray's face is captivating, his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut as he concentrates. Fraser is not quite sure how he keeps his own gaze so focussed when the rush of sensation is so dizzying, but to miss a second of Ray's expression would be unforgivable, so he forces his eyes open.

As Ray settles onto Fraser's thighs, he can feel Ray relax slightly. His head drops forward and he open his eyes with a dazed look. Slowly he places his hands on Fraser's belly, pushing them beneath the t-shirt Fraser is still wearing. He slides his palms up over Fraser's abdomen and onto his chest, shifting his weight carefully onto his arms. With a small, self-satisfied smile he begins to rock, causing Fraser to clutch at Ray's thighs, experiencing the roughness of the hairs there under his trembling fingers.

Moving ever more confidently, Ray rolls his hips as he sways, and this time it is Fraser whose throat is bared as he gasps in air. The clutch of Ray's body as he moves is taking Fraser close to breaking point so quickly he barely has time to enjoy the sensation. Fraser's fingers are digging into Ray's legs, and he simply can't help it. Ray's eyes are slits, watching Fraser in the half-light of the setting sun.

With one hand braced on Fraser's chest, Ray takes a firm hold on his own cock and begins to jerk himself with short, brutal-looking strokes. Fraser can take no more and thrusts up into Ray's movement, causing him to grunt and swear. Fraser knows that he's not hurting Ray from the blissful look on his face. He times his driving pushes with Ray's rhythm, joining them more completely, until he cannot wait any longer. His hands grasp Ray's hips, holding him still as he comes deep inside him, a wrenching, devastating explosion of sensation.

As Fraser rides the aftermath, he hears Ray's pants and the slick sound of his fist, then a deep, satisfied moan as a spatter of warmth hits his chest and chin. Ray quickly collapses onto Fraser, making it tricky to breathe.

Fraser rolls them onto their sides, wincing as he slips from Ray's body. Their legs are tangled in a way that Fraser knows will be uncomfortable shortly, but after grabbing a handful of tissues and dealing with the condom, he finds he can't raise the energy or inclination to move and they lie entwined as the sun sets and the room begins to fill with shadows.

Ray's face has relaxed again, looking more the way Fraser had become used to while they were adventuring. The tension of the past week is gone, Ray's shoulders are loose, and his mouth soft as he dozes. Fraser watches him, considering how this changes things, if at all, trying to judge Ray's next move, wondering if he is still at liberty to touch.

"See, that's your problem," Ray says unexpectedly.

Fraser raises his eyebrows despite Ray's closed eyes.

"You think too much. You talk yourself out of stuff that you _should_ do. You need to relax. Think it; say it, that's my philosophy. It's always…"

"Don't go."

Ray falls quiet and his eyes open, curiosity and surprise evident although his gaze is even.

"Wow," he says. "That's what you were thinking?"

Fraser nods once. Ray's mouth is so close to his, it would be no effort at all to kiss him. Perhaps he should. Perhaps he could have had this a long time ago if he'd been bold enough to make a move such as this.

"Stay with me," he says and takes that kiss, which Ray returns with no small enthusiasm. "Or I'll come with you. Either way, it would be…"

"Okay."

"Pardon?"

"I said okay," Ray clarifies, a smirk playing on his kiss-slicked lips.

"As simple as that?" Fraser asks, caught up in Ray's policy of total disclosure.

"I'm a simple kind of guy, Fraser." Ray shrugs, burrowing into the pillows and closing his eyes once more.

"It's one of the thing I love about you," Fraser confirms, his voice warm and indulgent.

Ray opens an eye and looks at Fraser directly, making him review his words. Perhaps Ray's "think it; say it" policy has further conditions of which he is unaware, because that is twice now that he's taken Ray by surprise with a candid remark.

"One of the things, huh?" Ray asks sleepily.

"Yes, indeed. I have a number of them."

Ray nods at that, smiles and shuts his eyes again.

"I'll tell you later," Fraser murmurs and does likewise.

Fin


End file.
